Here he flattened himself against the ground close behind the nearest tent and listened. From within came the regular breathing of a sleeping man -- one only. Tarzan was satisfied.
With his knife he cut the tie strings of the rear flap and entered. He made no noise. The shadow of a falling leaf, floating gently to earth upon a still day, could have been no more soundless. He moved to the side of the sleeping man and bent low over him. He could not know, of course, whether it was Schneider or another, as he had never seen Schneider; but he meant to know and to know even more.
Gently he shook the man by the shoulder. The fellow turned heavily and grunted in a thick guttural.
"Silence!" admonished the ape-man in a low whisper. "Si-lence -- I kill."
The Hun opened his eyes. In the dim light he saw a giant figure bending over him. Now a mighty hand grasped his shoulder and another closed lightly about his throat.
"Make no outcry," commanded Tarzan; "but answer in a whisper my questions. What is your name?""Luberg," replied the officer. He was trembling. The weird presence of this naked giant filled him with dread. He, too, recalled the men mysteriously murdered in the still watches of the night camps. "What do you want?""Where is Hauptmann Fritz Schneider?" asked Tarzan, "Which is his tent?""He is not here," replied Luberg. "He was sent to Wil-helmstal yesterday."
"I shall not kill you -- now," said the ape-man. "First Ishall go and learn if you have lied to me and if you have your death shall be the more terrible. Do you know how Major Schneider died?"Luberg shook his head negatively.
"I do," continued Tarzan, "and it was not a nice way to die -even for an accursed German. Turn over with your face down and cover your eyes. Do not move or make any sound."The man did as he was bid and the instant that his eyes were turned away, Tarzan slipped from the tent. An hour later he was outside the German camp and headed for the little hill town of Wilhelmstal, the summer seat of govern-ment of German East Africa.
Fraulein Bertha Kircher was lost. She was humiliated and angry -- it was long before she would admit it, that she, who prided herself upon her woodcraft, was lost in this little patch of country between the Pangani and the Tanga railway.
She knew that Wilhelmstal lay southeast of her about fifty miles;but, through a combination of untoward circumstances, she found herself unable to determine which was southeast.
In the first place she had set out from German headquarters on a well-marked road that was being traveled by troops and with every reason to believe that she would follow that road to Wilhelmstal. Later she had been warned from this road by word that a strong British patrol had come down the west bank of the Pangani, effected a crossing south of her, and was even then marching on the railway at Tonda.
After leaving the road she found herself in thick bush and as the sky was heavily overcast she presently had recourse to her compass and it was not until then that she discovered to her dismay that she did not have it with her. So sure was she of her woodcraft, however, that she continued on in the direction she thought west until she had covered sufficient distance to warrant her in feeling assured that, by now turning south, she could pass safely in rear of the British patrol.
Nor did she commence to feel any doubts until long after she had again turned toward the east well south, as she thought, of the patrol. It was late afternoon -- she should long since have struck the road again south of Tonda; but she had found no road and now she began to feel real anxiety.
Her horse had traveled all day without food or water, night was approaching and with it a realization that she was hopelessly lost in a wild and trackless country notorious princi-pally for its tsetse flies and savage beasts. It was maddening to know that she had absolutely no knowledge of the direction she was traveling -- that she might be forging steadily further from the railway, deeper into the gloomy and forbidding country toward the Pangani; yet it was impossible to stop --she must go on.
Bertha Kircher was no coward, whatever else she may have been, but as night began to close down around her she could not shut out from her mind entirely contemplation of the terrors of the long hours ahead before the rising sun should dissipate the Stygian gloom -- the horrid jungle night -- that lures forth all the prowling, preying creatures of destruction.
She found, just before dark, an open meadow-like break in the almost interminable bush. There was a small clump of trees near the center and here she decided to camp. The grass was high and thick, affording feed for her horse and a bed for herself, and there was more than enough dead wood lying about the trees to furnish a good fire well through the night. Removing the saddle and bridle from her mount she placed them at the foot of a tree and then picketed the animal close by. Then she busied herself collecting firewood and by the time darkness had fallen she had a good fire and enough wood to last until morning.
From her saddlebags she took cold food and from her canteen a swallow of water. She could not afford more than a small swallow for she could not know how long a time it might be before she should find more. It filled her with sor-row that her poor horse must go waterless, for even German spies may have hearts and this one was very young and very feminine.
It was now dark. There was neither moon nor stars and the light from her fire only accentuated the blackness beyond.
She could see the grass about her and the boles of the trees which stood out in brilliant relief against the solid background of impenetrable night, and beyond the firelight there was nothing.
